Shenandoah Waltz
(Old West)

by Sue Bartholomew

He stood once more in the old apple orchard, the branches of the trees full of pink spring blossoms. The farm looked just as he remembered it, the modest white clapboard house, the green valley of the Shenandoah stretched before him, its shining river glimmering in the clear sunlight. He could feel the warm air, smell the country perfume, and yet he knew it was all a dream, the farm as he knew it was long gone, along with the happiness he’d felt there, the only real happiness he’d ever known...

Sophie came out on the porch, a pretty young girl just as he remembered her, his favorite cousin and best friend, the only relation who ever acted like she gave a damn about him. Pain gripped his heart, because he knew she was gone too, none of it was real, and would never be real again. He felt himself beginning to wake up, watched as the scene faded and washed out, replaced by the familiar sensation of growing consciousness...

 

Ezra gasped, stirred; morning light poured through the fancy curtains of his rented room, announcing another day in Four Corners. He looked around for a moment, remembered where he was, sighed in frustration and plopped his head back against the pillow. He could feel the tears in the corners of his eyes, wiped them away angrily; why couldn’t he just dream about sex, like Buck?

The noise level of the saloon below alerted him to the advanced time; he groped for his pocket watch on the bedside table, checked it, muttered an oath.

Throwing aside the covers, he dragged himself into a vertical position, yawned, and rose, pulling off his nightshirt as he staggered to the washstand, fully awake now. His gaze traveled over the top of his bureau, upon which were stacked his winnings from the previous evening. That brought a self-satisfied smile; the poker players he had faced were so inexperienced that his well-oiled cheating skills had been unnecessary.

Another thought intruded: maybe he hadn’t cheated because doing so was not as much fun as it used to be. He chuckled to himself as he shaved, imagining his mother’s reaction to such a thought; cheating was part of their profession, how they survived. It wasn’t their fault, she’d say, that God made so many stupid people. It was up to the cons and gamblers to teach those people a lesson and alert them to their ignorance.

Such arguments had always eased his conscience before, he mused as he wiped his face, but now for some reason they were vaguely unsatisfying. Well, soon old Judge Travis would return and they would be free to return to their old lives, himself and the other six men who had been hired to protect this rough frontier town. Then maybe the nagging doubts would cease...

He heard the conversation picking up downstairs, could hear Buck saying something which ended with loud laughter, and JD’s contentious response. He chuckled to himself -- those two at it again?

He thought of the dream as he reached for his brush. Its sadness was lessened now, in the full light of day; he could look at it with a jaded eye and think, those days are gone, my life now is what matters. And now I’ve got to get my behind downstairs.

"It ain’t funny, Buck!" JD was insisting, with all the sincerity of embarrassed youth. Ezra smiled as he sprang down the stairs; this should be good.

"Nobody’s sayin’ it’s funny, kid," Buck was chuckling, his eyes merry as he lifted his morning beer to his mustached lips. "I think it’s downright cute."

"It ain’t cute, neither!" the younger man spat, saying the word as if it were a curse, and shooting Buck a look of extreme annoyance. "I gotta figure out how to ask Casey to the dance proper, or she won’t go with me. I gotta do this right."

Ezra reached the bottom of the stairs, looked around; no one else here yet. The morning sun streamed into the saloon, cut by the dust rising from the street as the town stirred outside.

"Salutations, gentlemen," Ezra chirped, approaching his two comrades in arms. "Getting our blood stirred so early in the day?"

"Oh, just helpin’ JD with his love life," Buck quipped, earning a swat from JD; the boy was a good two feet too far away to hit him, but the attempt seemed to satisfy him.

"If this don’t work out I ain’t gonna have no love life," JD moaned, watching Ezra reach behind the bar for a whiskey bottle and a shot glass. "Maybe you could help me, Ezra."

The gambler turned back to him, bottle and glass in hand, eying him keenly as he sat down across from Buck. "I would be happy to render my assistance, son. What’s the problem?"

"Well," JD said, fiddling with the bowler hat in his hands, "Y’know the spring dance is in three weeks, an’ I’d really like to take Casey..."

Ezra grinned at Buck. "Our boy is in love!"

Buck laughed into his mug.

"Aw, c’mon!" JD protested. "Geez, I shoulda asked the bank robber I arrested last week for advice, he’da been more help than you two!"

Ezra sipped at the whiskey, still smiling. "Sorry, son. Pray continue."

JD huffed, ran a hand through his thick black hair which promptly fell into his eyes anyway. "Well, so, I wanna ask her today, but I don’t know what to say that won’t sound, you know, stupid."

"Not much in the dime novels on that subject, huh?" Buck inquired, leaning back. JD frowned.

"Well, no, the hero never has to ask the girl anything, she just sorta goes into his arms at the end."

Ezra laughed, poured another drink. "if I had a dime for every time that’s happened to me," he said wryly, then slapped the table. "Well, son, your pleas have touched me deeply, and you need have no fear -- I will gladly play Cyrano to your Christian."

JD blinked. "Who?"

"I’ll help you out," Ezra replied flatly.

"Great!" JD exclaimed, clearly relieved. "Boy, thanks, Ezra, you saved my life, really."

"My pleasure," Ezra grinned.

Buck seemed pleased, too; his grin was positively brilliant. "Boy, I can’t wait to go to that dance now!" he crowed. "Gonna see JD an’ Casey dancin’ -- that’s gonna be just too adorable!"

The gambler laughed, too, but JD looked suddenly stricken.

"Oh, gosh," he breathed. Buck looked at him.

"S’matter, kid?"

JD gulped, looking chagrined. "I just thought of somethin’--" he slammed the bowler hat onto the table in disappointment, cast his eyes to the floor. "--I ain’t never learned to dance."

Buck’s brow furrowed as he nodded slowly. "Well, now, that can be a problem at a spring dance."

JD’s expression suddenly brightened as he looked to Ezra.

"Say, you know any dances, Ezra? Cause you could help me with that too, maybe."

Ezra’s hand paused, the shot glass almost to his lips. His eyes flickered.

"Nothing fancy," JD persisted, "just a waltz, maybe, or the reel?"

"Sorry, son, not my department. Mr. Wilmington, I’m sure, can give you all the instruction you need."

Buck chuckled, gave Ezra a friendly swipe. "Aw, c’mon, Ezra, I ain’t never seen a Southron yet who couldn’t dance the ladies into fits of swoonin’. I bet I ain’t half as good as you."

The look he received surprised him; all the humor had gone out of Ezra’s green eyes as he looked squarely at Buck and said emphatically, "I don’t dance."

With that, Ezra rose, grabbed the whiskey bottle, and strode away, finally plopping himself down at the poker table in the corner of the saloon, where he resumed his drinking, clearly irritated.

His companions looked at him for a moment; JD was slightly stunned and Buck merely puzzled. Then Buck cleared his throat asked JD softly, "What time you wanna start learnin’, kid? He don’t dance."

JD just looked at Ezra, perplexed; the gambler was rarely moody.

Chris walked in, his black duster swirling around his legs as he strode straight to the bar. JD jumped a little, Ezra ignored him, and Buck studied his lined face carefully; it was always hard to tell what sort of a mood Chris was in. Tight-lipped and mercurial, the gunslinger often seemed most cheerful when he was boiling over with rage, so clues were few, but as a longtime friend, Buck knew best how to negotiate his pal’s moods. Nothing much had happened recently, so he was probably all right today.

"Hey, Chris," Buck called. "How you doin’?"

"Know in a minute," Chris replied, reaching over the bar and fishing around for a moment, finally pulling out another bottle of whiskey and a shot glass. He looked up and saw Ezra brooding by himself and frowned. "Problems, Ezra?"

The gambler looked over. "I have plenty already, thank you, Mr. Larabee," he said, and resumed drinking.

Chris glared at him, then sat down with Buck and JD and began pouring the whiskey. "What’s under his saddle?"

"Aw, he’s just sore -- probably got skunked last night at the tables," Buck returned, tired of trying to figure out Ezra’s moods. "So anything goin’ on today?"

Chris took a good long drink of the whiskey, shook his head. "Nathan’s gone out to the Seminole village, to check on things. Josiah’s still recovering from that shot in the arm he got last week. and Vin’s out on patrol."

Buck’s brow creased with concern. "We got trouble comin’?"

But Chris pursed his lips, shrugged. "Naw, just rumors of some horse thieves striking the ranches. Nettie was worried, told her I’d keep an eye out."

"Hell, send JD!" Buck exclaimed, punching the younger man in the shoulder. "He’s gotta go out that way anyhow, right, kid?"

JD shot Buck a look of pure anger. Chris poured another drink and eyed the two keenly, quietly amused.

"That so?" he said.

"I ain’t goin’ out there without Ezra," JD scowled. "An’ he don’t look ready to go nowhere just yet."

Ezra turned his head at that.

"No hurry," Chris shrugged. "Vin won’t be off duty til the afternoon, that oughta give Ezra plenty of time to sober up."

There was a noise behind him, and Buck and JD were both surprised to see Ezra striding back towards them, a smile on his lips.

"On the contrary, Mr. Larabee," he drawled, thumping his nearly-empty whiskey bottle on the table next to Chris’. "I am perfectly ready to accompany our young friend on his romantic errand. I’m sure Mrs. Wells wouldn’t mind some more eyes keeping watch on her place."

JD became instantly flustered. "Uh, what -- now?"

"Indeed, before some other young swain charms her out of your arms," Ezra urged, taking JD by the scruff of his coat and hauling him out of the chair. JD grabbed his bowler hat, growing increasingly alarmed as they headed for the door.

"B-but, Ezra! I ain’t ready -- I thought we’d practice first -- I ain’t bathed yet--"

The protests faded away as they walked outside, but Chris and Buck could hear them continue as Ezra and JD headed towards the livery.

"He was sure in a touchy mood this mornin’," Buck observed, draining his beer.

Chris shrugged, poured himself another whiskey. "It’s these quiet times, give a man too much time to think." He set down the bottle, regarded Buck with piercing eyes. "I wouldn’t worry. They likely won’t stay quiet for long."

 

The deputy at the jail in Eagle Bend scowled as he glanced over the records of the prisoners he was being asked to lodge temporarily in the town facility. The convicts chained together in the farmer’s wagon out in the street were attracting attention, even in the bustling activity of the afternoon. Three large, wicked-looking men, and one who was sitting apart, taller, slimmer, with an air of dissipated refinement, like a good wine gone bad. He was ignoring the others completely, chewing on a toothpick and staring out into the street.

"These are mighty dangerous men you’re askin’ me to take care of, Mr. Larson," the deputy finally said, looking up at the stout, grizzled man before him. "Harrison, murder and robbery. Fredericks, armed robbery and attempted murder. Likens, murder of a police officer. Kingston, murder of his wife."

"Yeah, they a sweet bunch, all right," the sheriff purred, tenderly cradling his long rifle and shooting a look at his charges. "And they’re goin’ to a place where they can play with lots of other sweeties, ain’t cha, boys?"

The prisoners glared at him, said nothing.

"Started a riot at the facility in Yuma," the sheriff continued, "which earned them a ticket to the maximum security jail in Virginia City. Damn prison wagon broke down couple of miles from here, and I had a hell of a time keepin’ ‘em in line while we got a lift to town. Had to crack a few skulls, y’see, which is why they love me so."

The deputy snorted, smiled. "That’ll teach em a lesson, all right." He folded the paper, handed it back to the sheriff. "They can stay here, but you gotta watch em. I can ask the hotel to deliver your meals, and there’s an extra bunk in the jail."

"Much obliged, son," Sheriff Larson bowed his head in thanks. "We’ll just be here overnight. Gotta get these bastards to Virginia City quick as possible. Oh, one more thing..."

He looked at the wagon, drew the deputy aside, and said confidentially, "Who delivers the meals from the hotel, a lady?"

The deputy nodded, confused. "Yeah, Mrs. Higgins."

"Hmm." Larson seemed uncomfortable. "Might want to see if you can get a man to do it. Kingston there," he indicated the tall man, "don’t like women, and almost slit the throat of the last one who got anywhere near him."

The deputy noticed for the first time how the solitary convict was glaring openly at the women passing by; even across the distance he could feel the hostility.

"It was an ugly scene that I don’t want repeated," Larson continued. The deputy nodded.

"No problem, sir."

"Good. Now, let’s get ‘em inside and settled in. The sooner they’re behind bars again, the better it’ll be for your town."

 

"Now, are you sure you’ve got it, son?"

JD and Ezra were trotting along the tree-lined roads towards the ranch of Nettie Wells. While Ezra sat fairly relaxed in Chaucer’s saddle, JD was a bundle of nerves; the time Ezra had allowed him to bathe and shave had succeeded in only giving him more time to get nervous.

But he nodded, trying to at least look confident. "Yeah, I think so, Ezra. You sure she’ll be impressed?"

Ezra smiled with confidence; his surly mood of the morning was completely gone. "My friend, you will find that words will move a woman like nothing else. Well," he reconsidered, the smile growing, "almost nothing else."

JD blinked, afraid he’d missed something. "Um--"

"Don’t worry, son, you’ll figure it out."

They navigated the turn in the road, and the small ranch of Nettie Wells hove into view. It was a modest but well-kept spread, with a small corral, a few cows, and a tidy farmhouse with a wide porch. Its owner, Nettie, was mending the fence, clad in a weathered tan dress, denim jacket and wide hat.

A tough old woman, she had survived the death of her husband and the dangers of the West on her own, and rarely needed anyone’s protection. She had had to ask the seven for it only once, and now they liked to pop in occasionally, to see how she and her young niece Casey were doing. Usually it was Vin who did the visiting, as the ex-bounty hunter and unjustly wanted man seemed to feel a kinship with the older woman. She’d be surprised to see Ezra; they hadn’t really hit it off.

JD gulped. Ezra reached over to pat him on the back.

"Courage, son -- the fair Casey awaits!"

A stream of loud cursing poured from the open window of the cottage.

"And there she is now," Ezra smiled.

"Language, Casey," Nettie hollered, without looking up from her chore. After a moment Casey stormed onto the porch, her sturdy overalls soaked in water and black soot, her long brown hair escaping from the ponytail and curling around her face.

"Aunt Nettie, the slats of the soap barrel busted and there’s water all over the--" She stopped, startled, which caused Nettie to divert her attention to the two men trotting up the road.

"Well, good morning, boys, " she called, wiping her hands on her skirt and pulling off her rough gloves. "Catch the horse thieves yet?"

"Good day, ma’am," Ezra replied, tipping his hat in a genteel manner. "I regret to announce that the horse thieves are still at large, but I would like to present you with this thief of hearts, Mr. JD Dunne, who assists Mr. Tanner and the rest of us in protecting this area from such villainous scourges."

JD smiled nervously, touched his hat. He hadn’t formally met Nettie, really, and didn’t want to be rude, but he found himself staring at Casey, who was eying him as well.

"Pleasure, son," Nettie nodded. "I hope you’re handier with chores than your fancy friend here."

I knew she’d bring that up, Ezra thought, but kept smiling anyway.

JD grinned. "Oh, yes ma’am, I’m real handy, been workin’ with horses and such all my life."

"Then you’re a friend of mine, boy. You men want some coffee?"

Ezra threw JD a look. Now was the time.

"Uh, well, actually, ma’am," JD gulped, "I’d kinda like to talk to Casey private-like."

Nettie shrugged. "You can help her in the kitchen, if you wouldn’t mind, son. Sounds like she’s in a bit of a fix."

JD looked at Casey, who looked back, then sped into the house, leaving the door open for him to follow her. With a quick look to Ezra, JD hitched his horse and bounded inside. Nettie chuckled and went back to work.

"He gonna propose to her?"

Ezra slid off of Chaucer and casually threw the reins over the hitching post. "Not that I know of, ma’am, although it may very well turn out that way."

Inside, JD found Casey on her knees in front of the fireplace, and saw at once what had happened. She had been pouring water into a slat-bottomed barrel to distill ashes into lye for soap; beneath the slatted barrel was another one for catching the water as it poured through, and the top barrel had burst. The floor was covered in slimy sea of grime. Now she was engaged in trying to scoop up the sodden ashes before they seeped through the floorboards; after working for a few minutes while JD stood at the door, watching her and trying to remember what Ezra had told him to say, she shot him an expectant look.

"You gonna help me or not?"

"Oh--" JD looked around, grabbed a nearby dustpan and began scooping up ashes, heedless of the black stains now wetting his only good suit.

"Dang ol’ barrel," Casey was muttering, "I knowed this was gonna happen, it almost happened the last time we made soap. Now we gotta clean the rugs an’ make a new one..."

Her words were spoken in a somewhat jittery voice; every now and then she stole a glance at JD.

"Bet I look a fright," she continued, laughing a little, wiping her brow and leaving a gray smear.

"I’ve seen you look worse," JD said quickly, then realized by the startled glance he received that this was not the thing to say.

"Uh, I mean -- you don’t look so bad," he stuttered.

She stared at him a moment longer, then went back to the cleanup, suppressing a smile.

JD gulped. He had to ask her now, before he got himself killed. "Casey, I got to ask you somethin’."

She didn’t look at him. "Hm?"

"Um--" He started to speak, then remembered to remove his bowler hat, began again, working hard to make his mouth form the unfamiliar words as he knelt on the sodden floor.

" My dear, it would give me the deepest possible pleasure if you would do me the inestimable honor of gracing me with your companionship at the impending social soiree."

There, he’d said it right, now all he had to do was wait. If Ezra was right, she’d swoon right into his arms.

Instead, she looked at him a moment, her brown eyes round, and laughed. "Gol, you sound just like your fancy gamblin’ friend."

He blinked, not sure how to take that. "So is that a yes?"

"It might be," Casey replied, rising and wiping her hands on her pants, "if I had any idea of what you just asked me."

"Well, uh, if you’d go to the spring dance with me," he explained, getting up himself.

A pause; then Casey smiled shyly, pretty even through the grime and sweat. "Sure, JD, that sounds like fun, I ain’t never been to a dance."

He’d promised himself he’d try to be mature about it, but JD couldn’t help breaking out into what he knew was a very goofy grin. "Hey, that’s great," he beamed, laughing a little with happiness. "I’ll go ask your aunt right now for permission to take you."

"Just leave off the fancy words," Casey advised, as he headed out the door. She looked after him for a moment, then returned to her work, smiling.

Outside, Ezra had greatly added to his handyman skills by consenting to hold a box of nails for Nettie. He sat on a post, hat balanced on his knee, watching as she pounded the fence back into shape.

"Yeah, gonna be a good spring, I think," she muttered, struggling to pry out an old nail from the stubborn wood. "Warm weather’s made everything come in early, if we don’t have an early frost we’ll have a pretty good head start on things."

When she received no reply, she peered over to see Ezra gazing at the apple tree in her backyard, which was in the full bloom of spring, the pink petals already beginning to fall to the earth.

"Apple lover, are ya?" she laughed, digging a nail out of the box he held. He started a little, looked at her.

"Not particularly, ma’am, but I am a lover of beauty," he smiled. She nodded, whamming in the nail.

"Yeah, I think it’s nice to have that tree there. It’s real pretty in the spring, puts a little color in the place," Nettie said as she hammered. "Planted it in 1838, when we first built the place. Casey climbed it all the time when she’d visit, just about gave her mother a heart attack, thinkin’ a branch was gonna break. But apple trees are pretty sturdy, they can take any type o’ poundin’."

Ezra smiled grimly, thinking, "Except, perhaps, for cannon fire."

His contemplative mood was shattered by JD, who came bounding out of the house bursting with glee. Ezra rose as he approached.

"Son, what have you done to your clothes?" he inquired, smiling at JD’s soiled appearance. JD was too excited to hear him.

"Mrs. Wells, may I take Casey to the spring dance at Four Corners?" he blurted, his eyes shining in anticipation of a positive response.

She laughed at his display, laying down the hammer. "Well, Mr. Dunne, I reckon I can trust Casey with any friend of Vin Tanner’s. Just don’t keep her out real late, she has chores in the mornin’."

"Oh, don’t worry, ma’am," JD said, smiling with joy, "I’ll take real good care of her. Thank you!"

Nettie smiled, shot a sideways glance at Ezra. "That’s all right, son, even this wizened old crone likes to see the young folk happy."

Ezra sighed. "Ma’am, I do hope my service to you here today had gone some distance towards earning your forgiveness for that unfortunate remark?"

She patted his arm. "Just teasing, son. If I’d really been sore do you think I would’ve let you within spittin’ distance of me? You just got some edges need smoothin’, and I reckon they’ll smooth out soon enough."

Ezra considered this while JD glanced at his watch.

"Oh, gosh, I gotta get back to the jail," he breathed. He hurriedly touched the brim of his bowler hat. "Afternoon, Mrs. Wells."

He scurried to his horse and mounted up, barely able to contain himself. Ezra rose, donned his hat, handed the nails to Nettie with a graceful bow.

"Ma’am," he drawled, then walked over to Chaucer and swung himself into the saddle.

"I’ll be in touch about the dance," JD called as they rode off. "Nice to meet you, ma’am -- and thanks again!"

"Anytime," Nettie yelled back, waving one gloved hand before returning to the fence. She smiled as she resumed hammering; this was going to be fun to watch.

On the road, Ezra turned to JD, his expression triumphant. "So, my words worked well?"

JD snorted. "Hell, Ezra, she didn’t know what I was talkin’ about and neither did I. From now on I"m stickin’ to my own words. If I’m gonna sound like an idiot I might as well know what I’m sayin’." He paused. "But thanks anyway -- they sure sounded nice. Bet you get a lot o’ girls with ‘em."

Ezra smiled. "My success with the fair ones is no secret, my friend, and I will gladly share my other secrets with you" -- here he held up a cautioning finger -- "in time."

"Yeah, well," JD replied, spurring his horse on. "I already know you can’t dance, so that ain’t no secret."

Ezra’s jaw tightened a little. "My abilities in that arena are not absent, my friend, I just choose to abstain from them."

JD looked over at him as they trotted together. "Why?"

Silence.

"Ezra?"

A long pause; Ezra drew in a deep breath.

"Let’s just say that the activity is rendered painful by... an old injury," he said, looking at the younger man. JD peered at him, tried to decipher the odd light behind those green eyes. Ezra turned away before he could figure it out, and they rode the rest of the way in silence.

 

Vin leaned back, letting the chair he was sitting on thump gently against the outside wall of the saloon. His gaze traveled idly up and down the vacant evening street as he blew a shapeless tune on his harmonica. Behind him the light and life of the hotel blazed away in a cacophony of booze-soaked laughter, but tonight Vin felt more like sitting outside with his bottle of whiskey than socializing. Nobody seemed to be around anyway.

"Well, look what the winds of the desert have blown our way."

Vin peered up from beneath his wide-brimmed hat to see Nathan and Josiah walking towards him, smiling in greeting. Josiah still wore his arm in a sling, a souvenir from a particularly nasty gunfight the previous week; Nathan seemed to be watching out for him constantly, despite the fact that Josiah was clearly on the mend.

"Evenin’," Vin replied, nodding slightly to them both. "How’s the wing, Josiah?"

"It’d be a lot better if he’d slow down this night life," Nathan groused good-naturedly. "But he oughta be outa the sling tomorrow."

"One hand to shoot with and one to drink with, all I ask," Josiah smiled. Vin reached down and offered him the whiskey bottle.

"Better start gettin’ back into practice, then," he drawled.

"Much obliged, brother," said the tall ex-preacher as he accepted the gift and eased himself onto the stoop.

Nathan peered into the saloon. "Anyone else around?"

Vin studied his harmonica. "Chris is watchin’ the jail, Buck an’ JD are off somewhere, an’ I ain’t seen Ezra all night." One eye peeped at Nathan from beneath the hat. "Heard you went out to the Seminole village today."

Nathan grinned widely, sitting on the stoop as he took the bottle Josiah was stretching towards him. "Yeah, thought it was time to check up on things."

Vin nodded. "So, how is she?"

Josiah chuckled. Nathan, seeing that he had been caught, cocked a peeved smile at Vin.

"Rain, and everyone else there, are doin’ fine. She’s comin’ with me to the spring dance."

"Ah, congratulations," Josiah exulted. "By then I’ll be well enough to cut in on you at least once."

"Try it and I’ll shoot your other arm," Nathan grinned. "It’d serve you right for bein’ so ungrateful."

Josiah smiled again in reply. "Brother, don’t you know all’s fair in love and war?"

Vin pulled his hat down over his eyes, leaned back again. "That Biblical, preacher?"

Josiah shrugged. "If it ain’t, it oughta be."

Approaching footsteps caught their attention, and they looked up to see JD walking somewhat stiffly towards them.

"Evenin’, son," Josiah rumbled, offering him the bottle.

JD smiled in reply, held up a hand in refusal. "Aw, no thanks, hey Josiah, how’s your arm?"

"The arm is fine," Josiah smiled, before turning to Nathan and saying with an exasperated tone, "I can’t wait til the sling comes off so’s everyone can quit askin’ me that."

JD ignored him, looked at Vin. "Hey, Vin, Chris wants you at the jail, says he’s got somethin’ t’talk to ya about."

The chair legs thumped back onto the porch. "On my way," he said, pocketing his harmonica. "Finish off the bottle, boys, I’ll see ya tomorrow."

As Vin strode away, JD sat down next to Josiah as Nathan looked around. "Wadn’t Buck with you?"

JD took off his bowler hat, mussed his hair. "Yeah, but after the dancin’ lesson he said he wanted to go check on his horse -- seems he mighta thrown a shoe."

Josiah looked at Nathan, then over at JD. They both said in unison, "Dancing lesson?"

JD looked at them, surprised, feeling a ribbing coming on. "Well, yeah, Buck’s teachin’ me to dance so I can impress Casey. Nothin’ much, He showed me the waltz tonight, it was real simple."

Pause.

"Well, it sounded simple."

Another pause.

"Gimme that bottle, Josiah."

 

Buck hurried along, breathing quickly in the night air. Having fixed his horse’s shoe, he was hoping to get to the saloon in time to meet Molly, the new working girl, and secure her for the evening. The hours spent teaching JD the waltz had been kind of fun, but he was eager to do the type of dancing they wouldn’t be seeing at the spring ball.

He looked around, noted how deserted the streets were. Odd, he thought, you’d think this warm weather’d bring out the whole town. Well, their loss.

A movement in the shadows caught his eye, and he looked to the right. In the gloom he could see a figure seated on the stoop outside of the closed general store, the orange light of its cigar glowing like an earthbound star. Buck squinted; it looked familiar...

"Ezra? That you?"

The figure barely moved. "Good evenin’, Mr. Wilmington. Or has it turned to morning so soon?"

Buck ambled over, surprised. "What’re you doin’ out here? I thought you’d be over at the hotel pluckin’ some pigeons."

Ezra took a drag on the cigar, slowly expelled the smoke into the moonlight, where it rose and swirled in a silver cloud. "Yes, well, my muse seems to have left me tonight, as has my desire to wallow in the mass of humanity."

The other man eyed him, concerned. Since Buck had known him, Ezra had never spent an evening away from the tables.

Ezra swiveled his head towards him. "Would you care to join me in my solitary meditations?"

The words were slightly slurred, and Buck realized that Ezra had been drinking -- probably the brandy he kept in his silver hip flask. Fueled by concern and curiosity, Buck shrugged.

"Hell, why not, Molly won’t be expectin’ me til later anyway."

He scooted onto the porch next to Ezra and had his suspicions confirmed when the gambler offered him his silver flask. Buck took a swig, thought, boy, that tastes good, wonder where Ezra gets this stuff, it sure ain’t from the saloon.

"I trust our young friend is catching on to the finer points of the terpsichorean arts?"

Buck thought, nodded. "He’s learnin’ to dance, if that’s what you mean. Took me a little while to get the waltz across to ‘im, but he ain’t half bad. Hell, when my ma taught me, I damn near sprained my ankle, so I guess we should be glad the boy ain’t dead."

Ezra took another draw on the cigar, blew the smoke out. "I’m sure he was most grateful to you for seeing him through the experience intact."

Buck laughed. "Well, he won’t never forget it anyway. You don’t forget when you first learned to dance. I ain’t never forgot my ma and me, waltzin’ around the parlor of the brothel while Ol’ Joe played the piano." Buck’s tone grew introspective. "I’ll always remember her lookin’ at me an’ sayin’, boy, you dance just like that, the ladies’ll never leave you alone. An’ damn me if she wasn’t right."

He took the flask back, downed another swig. "You remember learnin’?"

He looked over to see Ezra nod as he stared into the dark street. "Who taught you, Maude?

Ezra laughed and cast Buck a bitter glance. "Teaching me the social graces wasn’t in my mother’s abilities -- unless, of course, they could earn us a profit."

Buck took off his hat, ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah, she’s an amazin’ woman, but she never did strike me as the maternal type. So, who was it, then?"

His companion took another swig, swallowed hard and replied, "My cousin Sophie."

"Huh, I didn’t know you had a cousin Sophie," Buck remarked, pulling his hat back on. "Was she the one with the mustache and one eyebrow?"

Ezra chuckled. "No, that was cousin Liza. Sophie--" He paused, reflected, his voice softening. "Sophie was the prettiest, most gentle creature ever to draw God’s breath."

Buck observed him; he’d never see him look so sad. "She your sweetheart?"

He saw Ezra shake his head. "I offered to marry her, once, to protect her, but we were never involved in that carnal manner. We were more like..." He searched his vocabulary. "Companions of the soul."

Buck eyed him, knowing Ezra was drunk or he’d never open up this way; but he seemed to need to talk about it, and Buck was growing increasingly intrigued.

Ezra caught him staring. "I apologize, Mr. Wilmington -- am I boring you?"

"I can hold out long as the brandy does," Buck replied. Ezra smiled and handed it over.

"Then fortify yourself, sir. This is a long, sad story."

The Shenandoah Valley, Northern Virginia, 1857

"it’s just so nice of you to help me out, dear, I know I can’t thank you enough!"

The words were spoken, in a light and pleasing tone, by a slim, blonde-haired woman in full mourning, as she stood on the steps of the small white farmhouse’s porch. She smiled disarmingly up at the tall, rough-looking man in work clothes, as if desperate for him to know exactly how grateful she was.

Behind her, the Shenandoah Valley spread itself out in a breathtaking view. The farm was situated on the crest of a hill which overlooked the green rolling slopes and fertile fields of the ancient terrain, all rimmed by distant blue-green mountains. It was the middle of spring, and the sunshine bathed everything in a soft, slightly humid warmth which bore a taste of the forthcoming summer heat. The air was alive with the music of insects and birds as they busied themselves among the trees and flowers which colored the entire valley in bright greens, pinks and purples. Through it all ran the Shenandoah River, its silver waters sparkling in the Southern sun.

The man returned her smile, his weather-creased face battered but pleasant. "Don’t you worry, Maude. Long as he does his share, Ezra’s welcome to stay with us as long as he likes."

He smiled down at the slender boy who stood directly in front of him, facing the woman with a blank expression. The boy didn’t respond to his remark, or to the firm but affectionate hands which rested on his shoulders, giving him a gentle shake. He was eleven, but his green eyes looked older as they regarded the black-clad woman with resignation, an infant bitterness already growing. Darkening his expression even further were the almost-healed traces of a black eye.

"It eases my mind to hear you say that, George, it surely does," Maude replied. "And I’m sure Ezra’s going to be on his very best behavior, right, sugar?"

She tousled the boy’s hair; he simply gazed into her eyes and said with a sigh in his voice, "Yes, mama."

"Good boy," she cooed, chucking his chin, then looking back at her hosts. "Really, i can’t tell you how much this means to me, letting him come out to your lovely farm and get some fresh air. I just couldn’t let him stay in Charleston another minute, you know how congested and unhealthy that place can get." She looked back down at Ezra. "And, of course, there was that unpleasantness with his cousins Charles and James..."

She reached out to touch Ezra’s afflicted eye; he flinched away. She regarded him sadly for a moment, then tried to smile.

"I wasn’t there, of course, but when sister Mary wrote me, I could see he and the boys just weren’t going to get along."

"Now don’t you worry, Maude," the other woman soothed, "all we got is Sophie, and she’ll be right happy to finally have a playmate."

As she said this, she stroked the golden hair of her daughter who leaned against her hip, a small-boned pretty girl of eleven in a somewhat frayed but clean work dress which reached to her ankles, covered by a beige apron, also clean but stained. Sophie had not said a word since Maude and Ezra’s arrival the hour before, but had merely regarded Ezra with curiosity. He had not looked at her at all.

"You’re an angel, Grace, I can see why my Daniel, God rest his soul, said you were such a wonderful sister," Maude smiled. A distant train whistle cut the warm air, causing Maude to jump slightly.

"Oh, mercy, I’ve got to run or I’ll miss my train!" she exclaimed. She knelt before Ezra and gave him a fierce kiss, looking into his eyes with as much maternal feeling as she could muster.

"Now you be good and mind your aunt and uncle, dear," she said softly. "I’ll see you again before you know it."

Ezra looked at her for a moment, then grabbed her in a desperate hug, his arms tight around her neck, his eyes squeezed against sudden tears.

"Please don’t go again, mama," he pleaded.

Maude was taken aback; she wavered for a moment, then her lips tightened with regret. There was no other choice, none that she was willing to consider, anyway. There was no time or place for a child where she was going. She held on to her only child for a moment, then pulled back, forcing a sunny smile.

"Now you know I have to do this, son," she soothed, stroking his hair. "It’s the only way for me, for us. You’ll understand one day. For now--" she gave him another kiss "--just understand that I love you, and I’ll be back soon."

The boy gave her an you’ve -- said -- that -- before look but said nothing, just sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve.

"That’s my boy," Maude said, patting his cheek. "Now, I’ll write as soon as I’m in New Orleans, and you’ll be getting money from me in a week or so. Goodbye, George," she said quickly, kissing him lightly on the cheek, "Goodbye, Grace," another kiss, "Goodbye, Sophie, dear," a quick pat on the head, and she was off down the dirt sidewalk in a rush of black silk and petticoats. With a nimble hop she was in the rented conveyance; the driver gave the horse a touch of the whip, and the hack trotted off, Maude waving gaily. The group on the porch waved back, except for Ezra, who watched the buggy disappear with an expression of youthful heartbreak.

"Well, my boy," George finally said, when the hack had disappeared over the hills of the Shenandoah Valley," let’s get you settled and rested up, tomorrow’s your first day as a farm hand. You ever turned your hand to the soil before?"

"I cleaned stables at Uncle Henry’s, sir," Ezra replied, as he lifted his small satchel and followed the group into the house. "I hated it."

"Well, I hated it when I was a boy, too," George chuckled, as they entered the modest white-walled parlor and headed for the staircase. "But my father taught me, as I want to teach you, that there’s no shame in honest labor."

"Mama says there’s no profit in it either, sir."

The group stopped. George looked back at him.

"Son, that attitude will win you a ticket back to Charleston."

Ezra gulped, eyed him uncertainly, said nothing.

They moved up the stairs. "Don’t worry, son, you won’t be leavin’ as long as you do your share. And I hope you’ll see that profit isn’t the only reason a man puts his hand to his God-given work."

They climbed to the second story, then up another, smaller staircase into the attic section of the house. At the top of the stairs was a small room, its ceiling arcing overhead into a peak; inside was a small bed, a bureau with a Bible on it, and a table with a tin pitcher and ewer, all lit by a single square window.

"Here’s where you’ll sleep, son. Get unpacked, and then we’ll go over your chores while we eat dinner."

Ezra eyed the room with disinterest. "Looks just like my room in Charleston."

George cleared his throat. "Yes, well, unless you want to sleep in the bunkhouse with the hired hands, this will have to do. We’ll see you downstairs directly."

He moved towards the stairs as Grace reached out to gently smooth Ezra’s hair, giving him a gentle smile. He eyed her with a curious expression almost like suspicion as she descended the stairs after her husband. Sophie followed, still saying nothing; Ezra was opening his satchel and didn’t see her throw him a final, inquisitive glance.

It took the boy a few moments of digging through his satchel to find what he was looking for. There wasn’t much in it -- some clean clothes, a frayed edition of The Canterbury Tales, a few beaten-up toys that his cousins had discarded. Finally he brought his hand out and sat on the bed, ignoring the beautiful view of the valley outside the window as he shuffled the worn deck of playing cards and flipped them deftly through his fingers, back and forth, back and forth.

 

The sun was setting across the valley, the trees casting long shadows across the hills and fields as the bright sunshine deepened into gold. George McKenna’s farm hands were occupied with bringing in the few heads of cattle and tending to the small herds of sheep and pigs; George’s booming voice could be heard above the bleats and squeals as he yelled across the distance to the foreman, inquiring as to the conditions of the livestock. None of the sun-tanned, rough-clothed men paid any attention to the slender boy who came out of the house, crossed the expanse of spring-green grass, and plopped himself down at the foot of the nearest tree of the large old apple orchard to watch the settling dusk.

Ezra drew his knees up to is chest and crossed his arms over them, regarding the quiet beauty of the valley with deepening misery. It was all different, but it was all the same -- the same assurances that they were glad to have him there, the same list of rules to be obeyed, the same chores -- well, that was different, he’d never slopped pigs or fed sheep before, but in this case the novelty was unwelcome. He already knew he was going to hate it.

He picked up a stick laying nearby and absently poked the ground with it, thinking of his mother. How many times had she told him it was only going to be for a little while, then disappear for months. How often had she assured him that she loved him, only to wave from a carriage as he stood watching from a strange porch, surrounded by relatives who only said they wanted him. Aunt Grace and Uncle George would be no different -- their welcoming smiles would fade, they’d get involved with their work and eventually forget he was even there -- unless he did something wrong.

He rubbed his eye and remembered Charleston; the fight had been kind of fun, and he was pretty sure he’d left his cousins with a few bruises of their own. They’d yelled at him pretty good, and Mama was pretty mad when she had to come and fetch him, but he couldn’t be sorry about it -- they’d insulted him, and he had to defend his honor, like his father said a gentleman had to do. If it got him thrown out, well, he hated it there anyway. At least here nobody would bother him.

Ezra’s gut tightened a little when he thought of his father, although not as bad as it used to. He’d only been five when his father disappeared, but he still remembered his Mama reassuring him that everything was fine, it wasn’t anything to worry about, Daddy just owed some men some money, just a run of bad luck at the tables, he’d be back when they straightened it all out. Then later, when they found the badly decomposed body in the river, she told him it was still all right, it was all a game, the body wasn’t him, Daddy had just found a body and fixed it up to look like him so the bad men would leave him alone; they’d wait until he contacted them and then they’d meet him and be together again. When the days of waiting stretched into weeks, then months, even Mama had to face the truth. Ezra often wondered if his father really was still alive, but after six years, it hardly seemed to matter any more.

So absorbed was Ezra in his pouting that he didn’t notice the noise above him in the branches of the tree; he only looked up when he saw the pink apple blossoms falling about him like snowflakes. Curious, he looked around to notice that this tree was the only one shedding its blooms at such a fantastic rate. Puzzled, he peered upward to see Sophie sitting on a branch directly above him, watching him with her large blue eyes.

Ezra sat there for a second, surprised, then jumped to his feet and took off deeper into the orchard.

"Wait!"

Ezra slowed, turned to see Sophie drop herself down to the ground. As she walked towards him he saw that she had removed her apron, and some of her hair had escaped from its loose ponytail.

"I don’t like people spying on me," Ezra informed her, his voice cross. "Especially girls. You must think you’re a ‘possum or somethin’."

She stopped a few feet from him, brushed her hair back. "Naw, I just like to climb up there and watch the sun set when I’m done helpin’ Ma in the kitchen. It’s nice and quiet, and no one bothers me."

Ezra looked around. "Well, it’s not like Charleston, that’s for sure. Or Lexington or Richmond, for that matter."

Sophie’s eyes widened. "You’ve been to all them places?"

He nodded, smiling a little with pride. "A true gentleman seeks to stretch his horizons, that’s what my father said."

"You’re lucky," Sophie moped. "I’d love to go traveling. I’ve never been further than Winchester."

Ezra’s look of pride deflated a little. "They weren’t all that nice, really. I hated them."

The orchard opened onto a small pond surrounded by low rocks, with a deep forest beyond. The two children made their way to the water’s edge, where Ezra plunked himself onto a rock and began pitching pebbles into the pond, each one landing with a hollow plop.

"I heard Charleston’s a right pretty place," Sophie urged, sitting on a rock and picking up some pebbles herself.

Ezra shrugged. "Maybe it is, I was working in Uncle Henry’s stables all the time." he looked down at the pebble in his hand, let out a small, bitter laugh. "The horses don’t smell any better there, I can tell you that."

Sophie sent her rock into the water, then looked at her cousin. "I hope you don’t hate it here, Ezra."

He shrugged. "They told me the same thing in Charleston. Next thing I knew, Charles and James were trying to kill me." He sent his pebble flying. "Doesn’t matter where I am anymore, it’s just another place to stay until Ma comes back."

They sat in silence for a few moments, then Sophie turned to him with a smile.

"Don’t be sad, Ezra -- we can have fun while you’re here. Want to play hide and seek?"

Suspicion rose in his eyes, but she didn’t see it.

"You know that one, don’t you?" she asked, a little puzzled by his silence.

He knew that one, all right -- that was where they counted and he hid, only they never looked for him, or he counted and they went to play another game.

"Sure, I know that one," he said finally.

"Good!" She jumped up. "This’ll be fun, there’s lots of places to hide here. Only you have to stay outside -- don’t go in the house or it won’t be fair."

He nodded, thinking, of course she’d tell me that, she wants to make sure I don’t see her go in.

"I’ll count and you’ll hide, all right?"

He nodded, thinking how surprised she’d be when she discovered he knew she was trying to trick him all along. He should’ve known, they’d all done this, both the girls and the boys, acted like his best friends, and then let him know exactly where he stood in the family. At the bottom. Or more accurately, in the attic.

"Now go hide -- but don’t go in the barn, they’re fixing it up and there’s tools everywhere. I’ll count to 50."

She walked over to the nearest tree, put her face against her crossed arms and began counting. Ezra watched her for a moment, then turned and walked calmly back into the house, straight up to his room.

Once in his room, he peered out of the small square window, pleased to see that it looked out over the orchard. Good, from here he could watch her finish counting, then see her come back into the house. When she did, maybe he’d meet her on the stairs and ask if she enjoyed the game. She seemed really nice, too -- he’d almost believed her...

He picked up the playing cards and began shuffling them, casting looks out the window every few moments until he saw that Sophie had finished counting. He ducked back quickly, not wanting her to see him in the window, then checked his watch; in a few minutes she’d be coming back inside. He sat back and began to deal solitaire, smiling to himself at his own ingenuity. This time he was too smart for them.

Five minutes passed. Ten. Ezra began to grow impatient -- he really wanted to show her up, and every passing second took the edge off his victory somehow. A new thought began to creep into his mind, but he pushed it away. Nobody had ever done that before, and he saw no reason why she’d be different.

He began to think maybe she’d hurt herself somehow -- he’d surely get blamed if that happened, and after Charleston he didn’t need another black mark on his record. Rising from the bed, he peered out the window, ready to pull back if she was still out in the yard.

She was there, but she was not looking in his general direction. She was down on her hands and knees, peering into the broken slats of a large lidded barrel that sat next to the water pump.

He stood, shocked and suddenly feeling very guilty. She’s looking for me, he thought, with as much wonder as if she had sprouted wings and turned into an angel.

As he watched she rose, wiped the mud from her hands, and looked around again, obviously trying to figure out where else he might be. As she looked towards the house, he pulled away from the window, then sat on the bed, trying to think fast.

I can’t let her know I came inside, he thought, ignoring the fact that he had recently looked forward to throwing that very fact in her face. Was there any way out of the house besides the front and side doors? He didn’t see if they had a back door, and if he used the others she’d see him -- maybe he should just go hide in a closet -- but how would he explain being in the house? He needed a plan--

"Ezra! You came inside!"

He jumped, looking up in shock to see Sophie standing in his doorway, looking very hurt. She stamped her foot.

"That’s no fair!" she exclaimed, and turned on her heel to run downstairs.

"No, wait!" Ezra cried, jumping up. She went down three stairs, then turned, still angry.

"That was pretty mean," she said, clearly disappointed. With a stab Ezra realized she sounded just like he did, when his cousins tricked him.

"Well, I -- I--" What could he say? "I didn’t think you’d find me."

She stared at him crossly. "Well, of course I won’t find you if I tell you not to go in the house and you do anyway, silly!"

"No, I mean--" He gave up. Normally he was expert at lying, but for some reason it didn’t feel right this time. "I mean, I didn’t think you’d look for me."

She stared at him another moment, then walked back up into his room.

"I don’t understand," she said, still confused, but beginning to guess the truth. He sighed, feeling very awkward.

"You’re the first one who’s looked," he said simply.

Her expression changed to sympathy, then to anger, and she shook her head.

"That is so nasty! The next time I see our cousins, I’m going to be so mean to them! Now come on," she grabbed his hand and began pulling him towards the stairs, "before it grows dark. You’re going to hide and I’m going to find you if it takes all night!"

Once outside, they could see that the sun had already nearly sunk behind the mountains. The fireflies were just beginning to appear, their tiny green-yellow stars dancing over the grass.

George was walking back over the yard with Dean, his foreman. He glanced at the two children.

"Don’t stay out too much longer, kids, it’s gonna get dark soon," he mumbled around his cigar. The men passed into the house and Sophie sighed.

"Sorry, Ezra. We’ll play tomorrow night, after chores. And you’ll come with me to school, too -- it’ll be fun."

They walked to the nearest apple tree, and sat down at the base of its trunk, watching the stars come out.

"I’m sorry they were so mean to you, Ezra," Sophie finally said; he couldn’t see her face -- she was on the other side of the tree -- but she sounded sad.

He shrugged, pulled at the grass "So am I. They always acted like I was in the way."

"Not me, I like having someone else around. It gets pretty boring with just Ma and Pa and the men." A pause, then she said quietly, "I’m glad your ma brought you here, Ezra."

He watched the sky deepen, then said, "I am too," and meant it for the first time in his life.

Four Corners, 1879

Buck drained the last drop from the hip flask and wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

"Sophie sounds like a right sweet little girl, Ezra," he said, handing the empty container back to his companion. "Didn’t hear you mention any dancin’, tho."

Ezra stretched and took in a deep breath; he was pretty drunk by now, and getting very sleepy. "That part of the tale will have to wait, I’m afraid," he drawled, his words markedly slurred. "It must be past midnight by now, and Morpheus awaits."

Buck stiffly rose from the porch and sniffed. "Well, Molly ain’t waitin’ any more, that’s for sure."

Ezra eyed him as he, too, rose, bracing himself against the nearest post. "I apologize for detaining you, sir, but please accept my gratitude for lending your ear to me."

Buck shrugged. "That’s all right, Ezra, sometimes a man just needs to talk. Well, ‘night." He turned to leave.

"One more thing, sir."

Buck turned back to him; Ezra was standing unsteadily, but his eyes were clear and serious.

"May I rely on your discretion in this matter?"

Buck deciphered this, nodded quickly. "Sure, Ezra, you bet. Lips are sealed. Need help back to the hotel?"

Ezra came down off the porch, slipping the hip flask back into his pocket. "That will not be necessary, thank you, sir. I am quite used to walking alone."

Buck peered at him for a moment, then nodded good night and walked away. Ezra stood by himself in the quiet street for a minute, looked towards the starlit sky, then turned his steps towards the hotel.

 

Vin squinted into the early afternoon sun as he and Nathan rode towards Eagle Bend. It was another warm day; looked like the early spring was going to hold after all. Returning his eyes to the landscape in front of him, he sighed slightly; although he was happy, as always, to spend time riding in the wilderness which had become his home, he was getting tired of looking for phantom horse thieves.

Despite rumors to the contrary, none had shown up, and Vin couldn’t help but wonder if they were missing important duties while chasing the toothless ghosts.

"Sure appreciate you lettin’ me come with you," Nathan was saying as they plodded along. "With Josiah’s arm still too sore to ride, woulda been a long trip to Eagle Bend by myself."

Vin gave his usual tight smile, cocked his head. "Don’t object to company, if it’s the right kind."

Nathan smiled, realizing what a compliment that was, coming from Vin. As a wanted man, Vin had to choose his companions carefully; only those he could trust fully won his confidence, and Vin trusted very few people. Only six, at the moment.

"Too bad we couldn’t stick around to watch Buck give JD some more dancing lessons," Nathan chuckled, clucking to his horse. Vin shook his head.

"Never pegged Buck for much of a dancer."

His companion shrugged. "When you got what he got, talent don’t count as much as style."

Vin nodded, pulled his hat down. The sun was climbing.

"You goin’ to the dance?" Nathan inquired.

Vin looked down, fiddled with the reins. "Too many people. Reckon I’ll just spend the night ridin’ patrol."

Nathan eyed him in disbelief. "Now, you know you got half the ladies in town sighin’ over them fine looks o’ yours."

Vin shot him a steady look. "Wouldn’t look too fine at the end of a rope." He looked around with discomfort. "Could be takin’ care of some things instead of chasin’ imaginary horse thieves."

Nathan scratched his chin. "Yeah, looks like we ain’t gonna run into ‘em out here. Maybe Buck an’ Chris’ll find somethin’."

"Mm."

They rode in silence for a while. Suddenly Vin narrowed his eyes and halted.

Nathan glanced at him, concerned. "See somethin’?"

Vin kept his eyes scanning while he dug for his telescope. "Know in a minute."

He lifted the glass up to his eye, peered through it for a moment, then quickly picked up the reins and said, "C’mon!" as he spurred Sire forward up the road. Nathan followed, trying to fight a rising sense of anxiety.

As they neared the object that caught Vin’s attention, Nathan could see his reason for concern. It was a prison wagon, empty, turned on its side, the horses gone, the back door smashed open. Near the debris lay a motionless body, face-down in the desert dust, blood covering its head and neck.

Vin and Nathan pulled up and dismounted quickly, Vin priming his sawed-off Winchester as he scanned the area for the convicts. Nathan ran to the body, knowing it was already dead, and turned it over. An older man, white grizzled beard, his head bent at an odd angle, an ugly wound near the left ear.

Nathan looked up at Vin, who was staring at the man with a grim expression.

"Neck’s broke. Been shot in the head, too -- looks like they wanted to make sure with this one."

Vin kept staring, then said, "Frank Larson."

Nathan’s eyebrows raised a little. "Knew him, huh?"

His comrade nodded. "Sheriff in Yuma. Brought some men in to ‘im on a few occasions. Real bastard, but he knew his job. Guess whoever jumped ‘im knew theirs, too."

An object nearby caught the tracker’s attention; a large wooden box lying on its side, its lock blown off. Vin walked over to it, peering at the lid; over the faded green paint he could make out the white stenciled words GUNS AND AMMUNITION. With one foot he nudged the battered lid open; the box was empty.

He looked around again, squinting. "Could have trouble here, pard."

Nathan rose. "Guess we better--"

Gunshots shattered the drowsy air, the bullets striking the overturned wagon and ground around them. Vin whirled, pumped off a few shots as he and Nathan dove for cover behind the shattered wagon.

"There’s one behind the rock," Vin yelled as Nathan peered around the corner, peeling off a few rounds.

"How many you think?" Nathan hollered back, never taking his eyes off their assailants. The wagon splintered as what seemed like hundreds of bullets drilled into its side.

"The tracks tell me four," Vin replied, still firing. "But I only see two fellers out there, the rest musta went off. Watch your back!"

Nathan craned his head, but saw no one behind them.

Vin squeezed off a round, grunted at the sound of a strangled scream. "Got one."

Nathan peered through the interior of the wagon, saw that he could see the lone gunman rising and ducking behind a rock not far away, at the top of a steep rise. Careful not to be seen himself, he waited for the opportunity, then took aim and fired. The gunman gasped, staggered, but stayed erect, and aimed his gun again.

Nathan aimed, and fired; the convict’s shoulder lurched backwards, but still he refused to fall. He was bringing his gun up again when a final shot from Vin’s mare’s leg spun him around, and he careened down the cliff, coming to rest motionless at its base.

The gunfire stopped. Cradling his rifle and eying the surroundings sharply, Vin ventured out from their shelter, every nerve on fire.

"Think we got ‘em," Nathan said, covering his back. Vin nodded.

"Reckon so. Let’s have a look."

They walked slowly at first, then with more ease as it became apparent that they had nailed all of their opponents. Vin clambered up to the first rock, Winchester still at the ready, and looked down at the huge, still form behind the stone, black-haired, face marked with a long scar under the right eye, blood oozing from a well-placed shot through the heart. Well, he thought, looks like your term’s up, and he hollered to Nathan, "This one’s dead."

Nathan was crouching beside the second convict. Another large man, hardened and muscular. After a few moments of examination, he yelled back, "This one’s still breathin’."

Vin scooted back down the hillside. "He gonna live?"

Nathan nodded. "Reckon so, if I get them bullets out. Maybe he knows where the others went, an’ we could solve this problem right quick."

His partner nodded, smiling tightly. "Good thinkin’. Let’s get ‘im back to town and see what he feels like tellin’ us."

 

The sun was already working its way towards the western mountains as Chris strode down the main street of Four Corners towards the post office, tensely puffing on his cheroot. The thoroughfare was dusty and crowded as the citizens went about their business; few gave Chris’ black-clad form and stern expression a second look. Many of the townsfolk had greeted Chris and his men with no small degree of nervousness, believing the hired guns to be little better then the desperadoes they were supposed to protect the town from. But that was some time ago; now everyone was used to them, and only grumbled when Ezra won too much money from them, or Buck stole their girlfriends.

Chris’ gaze was steady, his mind focused on the unwelcome news he had just received. As he approached the telegraph office, he saw Vin emerging from its dim interior, squinting into the sun as he pulled his hat down. The bounty hunter saw Chris approach and nodded.

"Heard we got some prairie dogs on the loose," Chris greeted him, looking around and keeping his voice down; nothing would scare the populace more than the news that there were two ex-convicts prowling the immediate vicinity.

Vin nodded, glancing around as Chris had done. "Just wired Eagle Bend, should get some information soon about who Larson was carryin’."

"JD get our guest situated?"

They stepped off from the telegraph office, began to meander down the street. "Yeah, Nathan’s lookin’ ‘im over," Vin replied. "Big ol’ cuss, took three bullets to bring ‘em down."

Chris’ eyes clouded. "Probably in for murder. We’d better get over there, see if JD needs a hand."

Vin cast an inquiring look at his partner, smiled a bit. "This gonna turn into a interrogation?"

The other man scowled, chewed on his cheroot. "Yeah, probably. Been a bad day, might as well spread it around."

 

Vin and Chris were just coming up to the jail when a cascade of loud, foul language and the sounds of violence reached their ears. They looked at each other, drew their weapons and trotted towards the door, both assuming that the convict had accosted JD. To their surprise, however, JD came rushing out of the jailhouse door, his face a mask of relief when he saw his older comrades.

"Quick!" he cried, pointing inside. "He punched Nathan!"

Inside, they found Josiah helping Nathan to his feet; the slender black man was eying the huge inmate with a look of anger as he placed a searching hand on his bleeding lip. The inmate was bare-chested, his wounds half-bandaged; one hand and both feet were manacled to the iron bed frame, but one hand was swinging free, and had apparently found a target.

"I’d advise you to take it easy, brother," Josiah was rumbling, pointing his sidearm at the glowering convict, as Nathan steadied himself beside him.

"I ain’t yer Gah-damn brother," the convict roared in reply," an’ I ain’t takin’ nothin’ easy til you get that darky outta here!"

"Someone’s woke up a mite grouchy," Chris observed, walking up to the open cell door. "You fellas need any help?"

Nathan reassured Josiah with a nod that he was not seriously hurt, then peered sideways at Chris. "He’s the one needs the help, but he ain’t gonna get it from me if he keeps tryin’ to take my head off!"

Vin looked at the young sheriff. "Chain his other hand, JD."

JD could only shake his head and throw out his hands in frustration. "Can’t, Vin, he’s already wearin’ all the handcuffs I got!"

"Guess we’ll have to appeal to his better nature, then," Chris said, and turning to the cell pointed his gun at the man simmering inside.

"What happened?" he asked Nathan, keeping his eyes on the prisoner.

"I got one bullet out of ‘im, was about to get the other two, but he woke up first," the healer explained, regaining his composure.

"We were about to do unto him what he did to Nathan, when you arrived," Josiah finished, giving the convict a menacing smile. "Divine intervention, you might call it."

Chris frowned, addressed the prisoner. "Now, you gonna be a good boy and let him treat you, or do you get buried here instead of a Federal prison yard?"

The prisoner glared at him so intensely that Chris felt he could reach out and touch the hatred, and pointed to Nathan.

"That darky touches me again, I’ll send him straight to Hell."

"You’ll die if he doesn’t treat you," Chris pointed out evenly.

The convict didn’t blink. "You think that matters to me?"

They stared at each other for a few moments. Memories flickered across Chris’ mind, memories of the prison where he’d been unjustly incarcerated. The others had freed him, but not before he had seen the kind of beasts the facility had turned the inmates into. He hadn’t seen this man there, but he’d seen enough like him to know there was little they could do to ease his aggression or change his mind.

"Have it your way," Chris said evenly, and turned to leave.

Nathan gathered up his supplies and followed Josiah out of the cell, pressing a handkerchief to his slowly swelling lip. As they passed JD, he gave the young man a glance.

"He passes out again, let me know."

JD nodded, surprised. "You’re gonna remove the other two bullets?"

Nathan winced, glanced at the handkerchief. "I was thinkin’ of puttin’ back the one I took out."

They walked out into the street. JD cast Vin a nervous look, then eyed the prisoner.

"I ain’t never had to chain a man down before, Vin," he confessed. "Is he a murderer?"

"Know soon enough," Vin drawled. "I’m goin’ over to the telegraph office to see if we got any word yet. Tell Chris I’ll meet him at the saloon when I hear."

JD nodded, and Vin slipped out.

Chris stepped outside of the cell, swung the door shut as he looked the convict in the eye.

"You wouldn’t happen to know where your other two friends went, would you?"

The convict glared at him, spat, said nothing. Chris leaned into the bars, his eyes piercing, his voice soft but sharp.

"OK, friend, we can play this out. You think I don’t know what it’s like to be chained up and treated like a dead dog. But I’ve been in the same hell as you, maybe worse, and I know it don’t have to make you an animal. A man can fight that, if he’s got a mind to."

The prisoner continued to eye him maliciously, his face set in a hateful, stony stare. Chris turned, headed for the door.

"I’ll be back later, maybe those wounds’ll loosen his tongue up a bit," he said to JD. "I’ll ask Josiah to come over an’ help you keep an eye on him."

JD nodded, still looking at the convict with trepidation. "He sure is a mean one, Chris."

The other man cast a backwards glance at the prisoner, who was still looking at them both with a murderous glint in his eye. "Don’t worry, kid, Federal men should be by for him soon. "

JD shook his head. "I sure hope so. Vin said to tell ya he’s gone to the telegraph office, and when he finds out about those men he’ll meet you in the saloon."

Chris nodded, narrowed his eyes as he stared out into the bright, dusty street. "Sounds good, cause I have a feeling that by then I’m gonna need a good stiff drink."

 

The afternoon sun was casting its long, hot rays into the Four Corners saloon as Chris began working through his second bottle of whiskey. Where the hell was Vin?

It was quiet in the saloon, as was usual in the late afternoons before the men left their work or homes to come in for a relaxing drink or round of cards. Chris sat at a table by himself, while Ezra lounged nearby, absorbed in the latest issue of Harpers Weekly. Buck sat opposite him, cleaning his guns and listening to the piano player tuning the instrument in preparation for the evening’s revelries.

"You’re being mighty diligent in the care of your weaponry," Ezra observed, never taking his eyes off of the paper. Buck sighed in frustration.

"Gotta be ready if trouble breaks out. ‘Sides, I got nothin’ else to do -- thanks to you, Molly’s mad at me now."

Ezra glanced at him as he turned the pages of the paper with a loud rattle. "Would you like me to explain the situation to the young lady?"

Buck shook his head. "Naw, in her mood she’d just go home with you, and why should you have all the fun?" He blew out his breath in pique. "At this rate I’ll be goin’ to the dance with JD."

"I believe Mr. Dunne already has a date," Ezra replied flatly. Buck shot him a look and continued with his chore.

The saloon doors swung open, and Nathan entered, his lip still slightly swollen.

"Hey, Chris, I saw Vin comin’ down the road, I think he’s heard somethin’."

"Good," Chris muttered, then looking closely at the healer. "Lip OK?"

Nathan nodded. "Yeah, just a cut. Lucky I didn’t have to stitch it up -- you ever try to sew your own lip?"

Buck winced, sucked in his lip unconsciously.

Vin entered behind Nathan, holding a piece of paper, a tense look on his face. Chris eyed him calmly, not moving. "Got the story?"

The bounty hunter nodded, tossed the paper to Chris as he sat down. "All four were murderers, or tried it. There’s their names, an’ some descriptions."

Chris studied the telegraph paper, muttering its contents aloud. "Being transferred from Yuma to Virginia City... James Harrison, murder and robbery... Paul Fredericks, armed robbery and attempted murder..."

"That’s the feller we killed today," Vin explained, helping himself to the whiskey. "Harrison’s the one we got locked up."

"Looks like the last two are the ones we’re lookin’ for, then," Chris said grimly, peering at the paper. "George Likens, murdered a police officer, and Lafayette Kingston, murdered his wife."

Buck snorted in amusement, chuckling, and looked at Chris.

"I’m sorry, Chris, but -- Lafayette Kingston? What sorta sissy name is that?"

Chris eyed him sternly. "Not too sissy to kill a woman, Buck."

His friend nodded, trying to sober up. "Yeah, I know, it’s tragic and all, but still, I’d shoot myself before I went through life with a name like Lafayette." He looked to Ezra for agreement, only to stop in surprise.

Ezra was staring over the newspaper in his hands, completely motionless, with a wild, blank look in his eyes. His face was slack with shock and as white as Buck had seen on any living man. His mouth was hanging slightly open, as if something momentous had just struck him and the full weight of it had yet to sink in.

Buck frowned; he’d never seen Ezra look so completely stunned. "Ezra? Somethin’ in the paper?"

With a single motion Ezra leapt from the chair, overturning it with the violence of his action, and bolted straight past the others out of the saloon, leaving everything behind. Chris’ eyes narrowed.

"What the hell?"

Nathan stepped outside, looking down the street. "I dunno, but he looked like he was in shock. He’s headin’ for the jail."

"Better get down there," Buck decided, grabbing his hat. "Judging from the look on his face, he’s gonna kill someone, and the least we should do is get JD and Josiah outta the way."

 

JD sighed as he looked over his cards at Josiah. "So, you think I should get Casey anythin’ for the dance? Some flowers maybe?"

The huge ex-preacher grinned as he plucked a card from his hand and laid it down. "I got some poetry I could lend you, but you might be a bit young for it."

The door blasted open, and Ezra blew in, his face set in rage. JD and Josiah both looked up, startled by the commotion.

The gambler paused in front of the desk, eying the cell where Harrison slept with thinly disguised fury. He gestured to JD.

"Might I have the keys, son?"

JD blinked. "The keys?"

Ezra turned wide, blazing eyes to him. "NOW."

Taken aback by the look on Ezra’s face, JD fished the keys from the desk drawer and tossed them to his comrade. Maybe Chris sent him over to interrogate the prisoner.

Without a word of thanks, Ezra strode to the outer barred area and unlocked it, then continued to the cell door. Harrison awoke and regarded him with hostility.

"You one of those damn lawmen too? I ain’t got nothin’ to say to you."

"Oh, I think you do," Ezra said, barely controlling the rage in his voice as he unlocked the cell and stepped inside. Behind him, JD and Josiah were watching, puzzled.

As soon as he was within range, Harrison aimed a blow at Ezra with his free arm. Without appearing to think about it, Ezra intercepted the blow and wrenched the arm outward. There was an audible snap, and the convict let out a surprised howl.

"Now then," Ezra said, his face livid as he released the broken arm and grabbed Harrison’s shirt, "Perhaps you’d like to tell me where Lafayette Kingston is?"

The convict stared at him, then said, "Go to hell, you--"

Ezra reared back and slammed his fist into Harrison’s face, once, twice, three times, then yanked the convict’s bleeding visage to within inches of his own, which was now almost purple with fury.

"TELL ME WHERE HE IS, YOU YANKEE SON OF A BITCH!" he screamed, and began pummeling the convict again.

JD and Josiah leapt up; JD’s mouth was wide open as he watched Josiah barrel towards the cell.

The others came in, led by Chris. JD eyed them in shock.

"Christ, Chris, what’s going on?"

Ezra was drilling his fist repeatedly into the man’s face and wounded shoulder, barely leaving off when Josiah tried to haul him away from the chained man’s bed. His demands for the location of Kingston had degenerated into barely intelligibly screams of rage; his fist and clothes were spattered with Harrison’s blood.

"Easy, brother, easy!" Josiah cried, as he finally succeeded in yanking the still-struggling Ezra away from the now-unconscious convict. After a moment Ezra calmed down enough for Josiah to let him go; he was breathing heavily with exertion, sweat pouring down his face, his eyes still wild with emotion. They were all staring at him; none of them had ever seen the usually laid-back gambler so completely lose control of himself.

"You OK now?" Josiah asked, putting a hand on Ezra’s shoulder. The other man looked at him for a moment, stumbled a bit, as if he was just coming to himself; he drew a trembling hand across his eyes and nodded.

Nathan sped into the cell and examined Harrison’s injuries. He shot a surprised glance at Ezra.

"Gonna have to set this arm, and some of his face bones are broke too," he announced. "Damn, Ezra, where was you when he was swingin’ at me?"

Ezra barely glanced at him, just moved out of the cell in something like a daze. Chris barred his exit, sizing him up sternly.

"Wanna tell us what the hell that was all about?"

Ezra raised weary eyes to him; all the energy had drained out of him, and he looked very tired. "We have to find Lafayette Kingston," he said finally.

"We agree on that," Chris observed. "Doesn’t explain why you just tried to kill a man."

Ezra said nothing, and finally walked back outside. Buck and Chris exchanged glances and followed him.

 

They found Ezra seated on a barrel next to the general store, leaning over with his head in his hands, trying to collect himself.

"That was some show, pard," Buck commented, walking up to him. "I ain’t never seen you get that riled before, not even when you lost that $200 dollars last week."

Ezra didn’t move. "I am not in the mood for conversation, gentlemen."

"That’s too damn bad, Ezra," Chris said, his voice sharp with anger. "What the hell got into you?"

Ezra brought his head up to glare at Chris; his eyes looked wet. "This is a personal matter, Mr. Lar--"

"I figured that out!" Chris shot back. "But if we’re going to find those other convicts, I can’t let you beat our only lead half to death. You give me an explanation or you’re out of the posse."

Ezra eyed him steadily. "I am not in the habit of revealing my business to all and sundry, sir."

"It’s our business if you’re gonna go off like a damn fool for no good reason," Chris replied. "And if there is a good reason I think we got a right to know it."

Ezra pursed his lips and dropped his gaze, thinking.

Buck sighed, exasperated; his patience was rapidly wearing out. "Look, Ezra, will you quit the dramatics and just tell us what the Sam Hill is goin’ on here?"

The gambler lifted his eyes to them for a moment, drew a deep breath, then looked away. "Lafayette Kingston killed his wife."

"Yeah, well, see, we already know that," Buck pointed out with false helpfulness. "And while I despise the bastard too, I’m not willin’ to--"

Ezra cut him off, looked them in the face with a haunted, drawn expression. "His wife was my cousin, Sophie."

Chris saw Buck give a small start; this clearly meant something to him.

"You sure it’s him?" Buck breathed at length.

Ezra jumped up in a sudden burst of energy, angered. "Come on, Buck -- how many Lafayette Kingstons who killed their wives could there be? I know he was sent to Yuma, it has to be him."

Ezra walked a short distance away, facing down the alley; he rubbed his face, trying to wipe the nightmare away. When he spoke, his voice was thick with sorrow.

"It’s like New Orleans all over again."

After a pause he heard Buck say, "New Orleans?"

Ezra nodded, not turning around. "That’s where I was when Mother told me. It was 1868, we were at one of the hotels; I was at a table, having a rather good run as I recall, when she came up to me with her face all white and gave me the telegram." He drew a shaky breath, swallowed. "I swore I’d kill the bastard, but by the time I got to Denver they’d already sent him to prison. I figured that’d be the last I’d hear of him, but now he’s come back to haunt me once again."

After a moment he became aware that Chris was standing next to him.

"So it’s revenge, then," Chris said, his voice softer now. "I can understand that."

The gambler nodded slowly, still staring down the alley into the past. "I believe you can, Mr. Larabee. And you must also understand that I will do whatever I can to find this vermin, and if that means I have to ride alone to do so, then I will."

"Keep your head and that won’t be necessary," Chris replied. "Now let’s get to the saloon and figure out how to do this. We’re going to have to cover a lot of territory."

He gave Ezra a quick, supportive slap on the shoulder, and turned to go. After a moment, Ezra followed him, his expression still thoughtful.

They began the walk back. Buck regarded Ezra warily.

"You OK now?"

Ezra ruffled his hair and nodded. "I really need some whiskey."

They walked in silence for a few steps.

"We’re gonna have to tell the others," Buck said. "They got a right to know, too."

He heard Ezra sigh, and saw him nod out of the corner of his eye. More silence followed.

"Tell you what," Buck piped up, when they were almost at the saloon, "if I find that sonuvabitch first, I’ll hold him down and let you get in some good punches."

Ezra was quiet for a moment.

"And if I find him first, my friend," he finally replied," you can help me bury what’s left of the body."

 

The evening festivities in the saloon were in full swing, but the men at the corner table barely noticed as the crowd swirled before them, full of whiskey and high spirits. Only Buck seemed to pay the other people any mind, and that was mostly because Molly, the blue-eyed working girl with the tight black curls, was trying to goad him by flirting with every man in sight, and succeeding admirably. Vin watched it all with a small smile, leaning his chair back on its two rear legs and sipping at a shot glass of whiskey.

Chris had a map of the territory spread out among the whiskey glasses and bottles on the table, indicating to the others where the next day’s patrols would be held, the best to capture the remaining two convicts.

"Buck," Chris was saying, "you an’ Ezra stake out this area--" he traced it out on the map with one long finger. "Keep a sharp eye out, there’s lots of places for these convicts to hide."

Buck nodded, one eye on Molly as she draped herself over a dusty rancher at the bar. "I don’t think we need to worry about Kingston, Chris, we oughta just point Ezra in the general direction and let ‘im go."

"Man’s emotion can cloud his vision," Josiah pointed out, slowly sipping his drink. Buck shrugged, and looked back to the poker tables, where Ezra was holding high court and appeared to be having the time of his life.

"Seems to have gotten over whatever it was that was eatin’ him," Nathan observed, chewing the apple he’d brought with him.

"Don’t think so just yet," Chris replied, folding his hands. "Seems Kingston killed one of his cousins."

Nathan, Josiah and Vin looked up at that, surprised. Buck pursed his lips.

"You don’t say," Josiah finally softly, then nodded. "That would explain a few things."

"You sure it’s safe to have him in the posse?" asked Nathan. "He could go off again an’ get himself killed."

Chris paused, gave Buck a sharp look.

"He said he’d keep his head. Buck seems to know the whole story, that’s why I think it’s best you two ride together, you can keep an eye on ‘im."

Vin gave Buck an appraising look. "Got to hear some of Ezra’s colorful past, huh?"

The gunslinger frowned. "Wasn’t all that colorful, honestly. Maybe next time he’ll tell me some of the fun stuff."

"Now Vin," Chris continued, "--after the Federal men take Harrison off our hands, you an’ JD can ride up the canyon here, near where you found the wagon. Maybe you can track where they went from there."

Vin eyed the map, nodded, rocking gently back and forth in the tilted chair.

"Nathan and I will take the desert off to the east, and Josiah can keep an eye on things here."

Josiah rubbed his arm and scowled. "I do hate to miss all the fun."

"Aw, don’t worry," Buck said, giving a dark laugh, "I’m sure this ain’t the last roundup we’ll ever have to do."

"We know anything about these men?" Nathan asked, taking the last bite out of his apple.

"Ezra says Kingston don’t like women," Vin said softly, eying his whiskey glass with great interest. "Reckon we’ll ride over to Nettie’s tomorrow, let her know what’s up."

Buck fidgeted, noticing that Molly was still circulating, although now she was giving him less hostile glances. "Chris, we through?"

His friend nodded. "Yup, been a long day."

"And a longer night, too, hopefully," Buck retorted, clearly pleased. He hopped up and pushed his way through the sotted crowd to where Molly was lounging by the piano.

As the men stood up, a burst of merriment erupted from the poker tables; they looked over to see Ezra sharing a hearty laugh with a fellow player. Nathan shook his head.

"Funny to see him laughin’, after he almost killed that man in the jail today," he said. Chris and Josiah exchanged glances.

"I think what you’re lookin’ at, Brother Nate," Josiah said as he put on his hat, "is a man laughin’ so he don’t scream."

 

The night air was chilling as the last of the saloon patrons staggered out; the location of the moon indicated that the time was well after two. Molly was one of the last to go, her tattered shawl pulled tight around her slim shoulders; she was followed closely by Buck, who had tried unsuccessfully to win back her favor all evening.

"Aw, c’mon, Moll, at least let me walk ya home!" he begged, as she stalked down the steps and into the deserted street.

"I can walk myself home, Buck Wilmington," she shot back, still walking, trying to sound angry. "I ain’t ready to forgive you yet."

Buck stood on the porch for a moment, then jammed his hat on and muttered, "Women!" before jumping off the porch after her.

Inside, the saloon was almost deserted, the lights burning low as the barkeep and his few assistants were blowing out candles and sweeping up. One of the helpers, a thin young man with a pock-marked face, was surprised to see Ezra still seated alone at the poker table, holding a half-empty shot glass and staring at nothing.

"Scuse me, Mr. Standish," he said, pausing with the broom in his hand.

Ezra turned his head, looked at him blearily.

"Closin’ time, sir."

The gambler gave a bitter chuckle. "So soon? My, how the time does fly." He tipped the glass back, set it down with a heavy thud, and made no further moves.

The assistant grew restless; if he didn’t clear the place out, the boss was going to kill him. He was relieved when Ezra finally lurched to his feet.

"Have a good night, sir?" he asked, resuming his sweeping.

Ezra blinked, looked at his winnings. "Hm, I hadn’t noticed."

"Well, it sure looked like you were having fun."

"Oh, yes," Ezra replied without emotion, gathering the bills and coins up into clumsy wads and stuffing them sloppily into the pockets of his green jacket. "Never enjoyed myself so much in my entire life."

The boy bent down, trying to sweep under the tables. "Don’t mind sayin’, sir, I’d trade my job for yours any day. Must be one hell of a life."

Ezra picked up his hat and gazed at the disheveled table, the scattered cards, the empty whiskey bottles, and nodded. "Yes, son, it is. A hell of a life, indeed."

He stepped down, passed the boy, dug into his pocket, and flipped him a gold coin. "Here, no reason I should have all the fun. Buy yourself a new broom."

The boy caught the coin, surprised. "Jesus, thanks, Mr. Standish. G’night."

Ezra nodded, and staggered upstairs to bed.

 

Molly was walking too damn fast, Buck thought; at this rate he’d never catch up to her, she was already halfway out of town.

"Molly, dammit, you can’t stay mad forever!"

"Yes I can!" she called back; he was going to have to work for her forgiveness, even though she knew she was going to give it to him anyway.

They were walking out of town now; the buildings were spreading farther apart, separated by rocks and stands of thorny brush and trees. Buck sighed, exasperated; was he going to have to get his horse?

Finally he stopped; this was too damn much, it was too damn late, and even Molly wasn’t worth it. He’d try again tomorrow; once he turned on the Wilmington charm, she’d have to give in.

"Fine, then!" he yelled, putting his hands on his hips in frustration. "You just keep on walkin’! I’m goin’ home!"

"Then go for God’s sake!" an angry voice yelled from a dark window nearby, "We’re tryin’ to sleep!"

"Fine! I’m goin’!" Buck yelled back; the whole town was against him, it seemed. He spun on his heel and huffed away.

She whirled, amazed to see him striding back into town; this wasn’t working out the way she wanted at all. She watched him go for a minute, then stamped her foot in anger, muttered, "Oh, shit!" and resumed her journey home. Men!

Suddenly she stopped; a slight rustling in the stand of trees next to her small shack caught her attention. Had Buck doubled back? She turned to confirm her suspicion, but was puzzled to see Buck still striding away, now a small figure against the tall, dark buildings. A weird feeling crept up her spine; she felt strangely afraid.

"Buck?"

Something hard fell against her and pushed her to the ground. She struggled, got in one ear-splitting scream before the assailant clamped his hand over her mouth and put a knife to her throat.

Buck spun around, peering up the dark street; that sounded like -- In the distance he saw two figures writhing in the dirt, their indistinct forms blended together in the gloom, the night air wafting the muffled sounds of anguished struggle.

Buck’s blood froze, remembering Vin’s words: Kingston didn’t like women.

His heart pounding, Buck drew both of his guns and charged up the street, yelling furiously and firing into the air. "Hey! HEY!"

As he got closer, he saw the larger figure, a tall man dressed in gray convict’s clothing, look up, startled, make a stabbing motion, then plunge into the trees; after a moment there came the pounding of hooves and the sound of a horse galloping away into the night.

Buck skidded to a stop, fired at the retreating shadow, knowing there was no chance in hell that he’d hit him, but it felt good to try. People were emerging from their houses now, carrying lanterns and muttering in confusion. Buck stared after the figure, panting in fury and exhaustion, then whirled around to see Molly lying in a heap, her faded dress torn and stained a deep red.

"Aw, Jesus, Moll," he moaned, kneeling beside her; she was whimpering softly and clutching weakly at her throat. There was blood everywhere, gushing with alarming swiftness from an ugly gash on one side of her neck.

"Buck--" she gasped in a hoarse whisper. He took her in his arms; she was trembling violently. After a second she moaned, her eyes rolled up, and she went limp. He stood frozen for a moment, then lifted her as gently as possible and headed with hurried steps to the boarding house where Nathan stayed, his blood thudding in his ears. You’re in trouble, Kingston, he thought wildly as he pounded up the street. You got two of us mad at you now.

 

The sun was just beginning to peep over the horizon as Nettie stepped from her barn into the crisp morning air, lugging the two pails full of feed for the chickens. She squinted at the morning sky; clear and blue, no rain today. Should be able to get a lot of work done.

As she crossed the yard towards the coop, her mind ticked off the chores that needed to be done that day, the repairs which never seemed to end, the small things that needed tending to. It was hard work, but she loved it, and had been doing it all of her long life. Things would be a bit quiet today, what with Casey away at a schoolmate’s house, but Nettie didn’t mind the solitude; the young girl needed some time away from work and chores, and Nettie was pleased to see her making friends. She thought of JD, and chuckled to herself; it was nice to see her sparking some beaux, too!

The thundering of hooves caught her attention as she was scattering the feed to the chickens; she looked up, puzzled -- who the hell would that be at this hour? She looked up the crooked road leading to her house and was surprised to see Vin Tanner pounding towards her house, bent low over his horse’s neck. As he drew nearer she could see he wore an expression of tense anxiety.

"Mornin’, son!" she called, puzzled by his face. "Everything all right?"

Vin reined to a stop, touched the brim of his hat. "Mornin’, ma’am. Fraid we got trouble."

Nettie frowned. "Them horse thieves?"

Vin shook his head, his breath coming hard and forming small, short-lived puffs in the morning cold. "Worse. We got a coupla convicts on the loose. One of ‘em tried to kill a woman in town last night."

Nettie’s eyes widened a bit, then she smiled dismissively. "Don’t fret over me, son! I ain’t never yet missed a man that I aimed at, and Casey’s not too shabby either. We’ll be fine."

Vin fiddled with his reins, not liking to argue but unable to see any way around it. "I’m sure that’s so, ma’am, but I’d sleep a heap easier knowin’ you an’ Casey was in town an’ safe. One of these men likes to kill women, and you out here--" he looked around at the solitude of the farm--"you’d be a perfect target."

Nettie paused. "How long these men gonna be a problem?"

Vin gave her his a small, reassuring smile. "Not too long, I reckon. Day ‘r two at most."

She scanned the farmyard, considering, then sighed. "Well, I’ll miss a lot of chores, but I reckon it’s about time I treated myself to a trip to town."

Vin nodded, clearly relieved. "I’ll take you an’ Casey back to town."

The old woman looked up. "Oh, Casey ain’t here -- she’s at a friend’s house."

The tracker scratched his chin. "We’ll have to send word to her, then. I’ll keep an eye on things while you pack up."

She noticed with concern the way he kept scanning the area, his eyes alert.

"These men must be pretty mean, to have you all so worried, " she observed.

Vin gave her a grim look. "We got cause to think they might be."

"Hmm." She finished feeding the chickens. "That girl who got hurt -- she gonna be all right?"

Vin shifted in his saddle, then gazed towards the horizon, too uncomfortable with the answer to look her in the eyes. His expression indicated that he was seeing memories he didn’t like.

"When I left, Nathan was still with her," he said finally, turning sad eyes to her. "She’d lost a lot of blood. It didn’t look good."

Nettie shook her head in sympathy. "Poor girl -- what’d he do to her?"

He gave her a steady look, seemingly devoid of emotion; but the eyes shone with pain and empathy, and his throaty voice was weighed with disgust at the convict’s actions.

"He cut her throat."

 

Buck paced nervously in front of the closed door of Nathan’s room, his head down, his face set and serious. It seemed like days since he’d banged on Nathan’s door, holding Molly’s limp, blood-soaked body in his arms, hoping that the healer could somehow save her life; yet it had been only a matter of hours. The black night sky had brightened into dawn, and Four Corners was just beginning to awaken, the stirring citizenry hardly concerned over the fate of a half-dead working girl. They spared hardly a glance at the clinic as they went about their early morning chores; but Buck was consumed with guilt and anxiety, trying desperately not think about the black-haired girl on the other side of the door, and failing miserably.

The others had been concerned, of course, and Vin’s first impulse was to warn Nettie and Casey. JD had been alerted to the convict’s possible proximity to the town, and was anxious for the arrival of the Federal men who would escort the hapless Harrison back to prison. When Vin returned, he and JD were to track the fourth convict. Kingston, Buck had decided, would be left for himself and Ezra, and Chris had had no quarrel with that.

Nathan had dispensed little information since taking Molly into his care, and Buck was not about to leave without knowing whether she was going to survive Kingston’s attack. Buck had repeatedly told himself that Molly was going to be fine, but if she wasn’t... the various fates he’d been planning for Kingston gave him both satisfaction and grim amusement.

Finally he paused, sweeping off his white hat and pulling his hand through his disheveled black hair in weariness, gazing blankly out into the street. As he stood for a moment, resting, he saw Ezra approaching from the hotel, and grunted in surprise -- what was he doing awake before noon?

"You’re up awful early," Buck noted, wincing inwardly at the hoarseness of his own voice. Ezra replied with a small, bitter smile.

"Rising early is no trouble, sir, when one does not retire," he said. Buck eyed him sharply.

"I know what you mean," he said, putting his hat back on. "You hear about Molly?"

Ezra’s eyes grew serious as he nodded. "Seems Mr. Kingston has been ignoring the rules of civilization again," he said tightly, his gaze traveling to Nathan’s closed door. "Will she recover?"

The gunslinger scowled, dropped his eyes to the ground, kicked at the dirt. "Don’t rightly know yet. She’s still in there with Nathan. I think I scared him off in time, but--" He faltered, paused, took a deep breath, then his head shot back up, his expression one of anger and frustration.

"Hell, Ezra, I seen men do things to other men that’d make your blood run cold, and figured it’s just human nature. But I ain’t yet figured out what would make a man want to hurt a woman."

His companion gazed at him in sympathy for a moment, then looked away, squinting into the brightness of the morning. After a pause, he looked back.

"Mr. Wilmington, you do not understand this man because you regard women as creations of beauty and gentleness, as all decent men do. In order to understand him, you must think as he does, and regard women as he does -- as animals to be butchered."

Buck shivered, his eyes cold. "He thinks that, does he?"

Ezra nodded slowly. "The evidence would seem to indicate it."

His companion glanced at the closed door, his jaw set, a deadly expression on his face.

"Time we set his mind to a new way of thinkin’, then."

Ezra nodded, his face solemn. Buck stared at the door for a moment, then threw his arms out in impatience.

"This waitin’ is drivin’ me crazy!" he exclaimed, plopping himself on the wooden steps which led to the building’s second story. He pulled his hat off again, turning it in his hands.

"Perhaps a diversion to take your mind off of the situation," Ezra suggested, producing his pack of cards. Buck looked at them, shook his head.

"Naw, ain’t in the mood."

Ezra shrugged at the refusal, began shuffling the cards from one hand to the other absently.

Buck looked away, then looked back, a new idea forming behind his eyes. "Say, tho, you never did tell me about you an’ Sophie dancin’."

Ezra started a bit, his hand paused in mid-shuffle. "You wish to hear about that now ?"

His companion leaned forward. "Ezra, if I keep thinkin’ about that girl in there with her throat ripped out, I am going to go crazy . So have a seat and start talkin’."

The gambler seemed to hesitate, then pursed his lips in acquiescence and leaned against the wall close to where Buck sat, still fingering the cards. "Let’s see," he said. "The time she taught me to dance -- that was, ah, towards the end of summer. August, I believe. We were playing poker..."

Buck burst out laughing, despite his anxiety. "You taught that poor little girl to play poker ?"

Ezra eyed him in irritation, and said in explanatory tones, "I assure you, sir, merely a harmless diversion to pass the summer days. We played with this very deck--" he held up the frayed cards in his hand, then regarded them wistfully. "She had the mind for it, but not, I fear, the morals."

The Shenandoah Valley, 1857

The two children sat next to the pond, its waters steaming faintly in the August heat. Although the sun was well on its way to the horizon, the late summer warmth still hung in the air, causing even the green leaves of the nearby apple trees to droop with heaviness. In the distance came the lazy calls and mindless profanity of the farm hands as they drove in the cattle and slogged home from the hot work. Ezra and Sophie ignored them, as the men ignored the children; their tasks were finished, and they were out of mind until the next day.

It had been a long summer, full of hard work and seemingly endless chores; but somehow, Ezra and Sophie had managed to find time to enjoy themselves when all the work was through. Every late summer afternoon found them playing in the apple orchard, or investigating the pond, or combing the nearby woods for all sorts of natural wonders. Together they had climbed every tree in the orchard, played every game they knew of, and watched the sun set over the mountains from the shelter of the apple trees. On rainy days they had stayed inside or sat on the porch, Ezra reading aloud from his copy of The Canterbury Tales while Sophie practiced her needlework. The boy still loathed the backbreaking labor which left his hands dirty and blistered and his muscles sore, but the days seemed to pass quickly nevertheless, and now the summer was drawing to a close.

Ezra shooed away a fly as he finished dealing the cards on the flat rock which served as a makeshift poker table. In the middle sat a small assortment of rocks and pebbles, which represented the accumulated wealth of the two players.

"All right now," Ezra said finally, as he laid the remaining cards on the rock and picked up his hand. "Pick up your cards like this and see what you’ve got. Remember what I told you."

She brushed a wet strand of blond hair from her eyes and picked up the cards with a small bit of difficulty, trying to keep them together. Her blue eyes darted across the cardboard forms and she let out a delighted gasp, her face breaking into a huge smile.

Ezra sighed in exasperation as he rolled his eyes upwards. "Sophie!"

She looked up, confused. "What?"

"Don’t smile when you look at your cards, that’s a dead giveaway that you’ve got a good hand!"

She glanced at her cards, then at him, then back again. "I can’t be happy?"

"Well, sure you can, but you have to hide it. Look like this." His face assumed a perfectly detached air as he examined his hand. She stared at him.

"You look bored."

He smiled. "That’s the point! That way you can fool people into thinking you’ve got a great hand, even when you don’t. Then they fold before you do, and you win. You can really get rich that way."

She considered this, fiddled with her cards. "Ain’t that kind of like lying?"

He sighed again, losing patience. "It’s exactly like lying. That’s where the skill comes in."

She scanned her cards again, the enthusiasm clearly draining away. "I don’t think I’d be very good at this, Ezra. I’m a awful liar."

"Well, then, don’t think of it as lying. Think of it as -- using your opponent’s credulity to your advantage." He said these words with exaggeration, and she laughed.

"You been into that prize dictionary again," she said, shuffling her cards.

He shrugged, clearly proud. "Well, your school was the first one I ever won a prize at, guess I’d better get to using it. I’m going to need to know lots of words if I’m going to be a gentleman."

She had stopped shuffling the cards, and was now trying to build a small house with them on the uneven surface of the rock. She looked up at him. "Why do you want to be a gentleman?"

He gathered up the remaining cards and began shuffling them, not even looking at his hands as he tilted his head in consideration of the question. "Oh -- well, so’s I can be rich and buy a house for my mama and me, and she won’t ever have to go away again. So I can go right up to Charles and James and tell ‘em they were wrong when they said I’d never be one. So I can travel, and get respected wherever I go."

"Do you have to play cards to be a gentleman?" Sophie asked, absorbed in her house of cards. She’d gotten it up to the second story.

"You sure do!" Ezra insisted. "Every gentleman I’ve ever seen played cards. Mama says it’s the best way to get rich, and I’ll be rich in no time at all. You should see me play poker with Stan and Billy, I’ve made five dollars off of them already!"

Sophie looked up in horror. "You played cards with our hands? Pa won’t like that."

Ezra looked a little guilty. "Well, actually, Sophie, I’ve played with your pa, too."

Her blue eyes opened wide. "When?"

"At the Fourth of July party, after the fireworks. You’d gone to bed."

She sat for a moment, amazed at how much Ezra was able to get away with. Finally she blinked.

"Did you win?"

Ezra made a face. "Well, no, actually, your pa’s pretty good. But I learned from him, and that’s what a gentleman does -- learns from his mistakes."

She carefully finished her card house, then looked over it at Ezra. "Then aren’t you a gentleman already?"

He laughed, sat back in the grass, rearranging his legs. "Heck no, Sophie -- a gentleman’s rich!"

"Well, they don’t have to be, do they?" Her eyes were thoughtful as she knocked down her card house and began building it again. "I think my Pa’s a gentleman, and he ain’t rich."

"Well, uh--" He started to argue, then had to stop and think.

"An’ I think you’re a gentleman, and you ain’t rich." She smiled and threw a card at him. "Yet!"

Ezra ducked the card and laughed, then looked at her thoughtfully, his eyes serious. When she looked at him, he smiled again, then looked at the deck of cards in his hands, fiddling with them uncertainly.

"Nobody’s ever called me a gentleman before," he said finally, a tad overwhelmed.

"Well, I don’t know why not," she persisted, intent on her house of cards and apparently unaware of the effect her words had on her cousin. "You’re much more of a gentleman than that mean ol’ James or Charles, and they’ve got tons of money. I think being a gentleman starts with what you got to begin with, and the money just adds on to it."

Ezra stared at her, mulling over this new thought, then asked, "But if it’s not the money, then how do I know when I’m a gentleman?"

Sophie pursed her lips in thought, pausing with a card in one hand. "Well, I guess a gentleman isn’t supposed to work, and I know you don’t like to work, so that’s one way to tell."

"Your pa works," Ezra pointed out, not disagreeing with her first statement.

"Yeah, but he likes it. It don’t count if you like it." She screwed up her mouth, still thinking. "And you’re nice, most of the time..."

He smirked; she was still sore about the frog he’d put in her pocket. But she was smiling now, so it must be all right.

"Aaaand -- you want to learn, and travel, and make your ma happy. Those seem like things a gentleman should do."

He nodded, amazed at the proud feeling that was slowly spreading through him. He’d never thought about it that way before, but it all seemed to make sense.

"And remember when you got those bullies at school to leave Matt Baker alone? That showed you were brave, and I think that’s something a gentleman should definitely be."

He shrugged that off. "I just know what it’s like to get picked on, that’s all."

"Yes, but it was very chiv -- chiv--"

He smiled. "Chivalrous. And I think that word only works when you’re brave with ladies."

"But that’s important too!" she insisted, sitting up and placing her hands on the rock. "A gentleman has to know all about how to act around girls."

Ezra laughed; this was getting to be too much. "Well, you’ve got me there, Soph, I can’t be a gentleman. I don’t know anything about how to act around girls; heck, you’re the only girl I know."

Her brow puckered in confusion. "I thought you stayed with Aunt Georgia and Uncle Ben in Lexington. They got daughters, don’t they?"

"Sure -- but they never paid any attention to me. All they cared about was their beaux, and their balls, and dancing. I hardly ever saw them."

"You mean you didn’t get to go to any dances?" Her eyes seemed sad, for some reason.

But Ezra just laughed and shook his head. "No, and I don’t care. It seemed boring, with all those men and women swooning over each other. And I don’t know any dances, so I’d have had nothing to do but watch anyway."

She gasped, seemingly in horror, but with a smile on her face, and bounced up, energized. "Oh, Ezra, don’t say that! It’s fun to dance, I’ve been to three of them when our cousins got married. Please let me teach you, and then you’ll know everything about being a gentleman!"

He looked up in surprise. "You want to teach me to dance?"

"Oh, yes, please?" she begged. "You taught me to play cards, I should teach you something -- and then, later on when you’re a rich gentleman, I can point you out to Charles and James and say, ’There goes Ezra dancing away with your girlfriends -- now don’t you feel silly for saying he’d never be a gentleman?’"

Ezra grinned; the picture was an inviting one. He peered at her. "You’d really help me with this?"

She gave a short giggle, surprised. "Well, of course, silly. You’re my friend."

This was the first time anyone had ever said this to Ezra, and he paused before smiling at his cousin in gratitude. He wasn’t about to let her know that, of course, and without another word he jumped up and brushed off his pants.

 

"So what do we do?" he asked, as she shook out the folds of her faded pink calico work dress. She walked around the rock and came to stand in front of him, her lips twisted in thought.

"Hmm, let’s see -- first, we have to hold hands like this." She took his left hand with her right and held it out to the side, somewhat stiffly. He winced -- like most boys, he really didn’t take much to holding hands with a girl, even if it was Sophie. Still, if it was part of the process...

"Now I put my left hand on your shoulder--" She did so; it was easy, since she was only a little shorter than he was. "And you put your right hand on my waist."

His eyes widened. "Do I have to?"

She gave him an impatient look.

"All right, all right," he relented, and placed one awkward hand on her waist. "Now what?"

"Now we take one big step to the right," she said, and moved to do so. He did as well, only instead of moving together, they went in opposite directions. She stumbled a bit and laughed.

"Oops, sorry -- I go to my right, you go to your left."

He nodded. "Oh."

They got back into position.

"All right, now, this is one--" they took a long stride, then stopped. "Now, after ‘one’ you do two small steps, like this--" She picked up her right foot a bit, then set it down, then repeated the move with her left foot. "You just stand in place and take little steps."

He watched her feet, trying to imitate her actions. "Uh-huh. Then what?"

"Then we do it again, going the other way, one big step and two little ones. See, it goes one-two-three, one-two-three--"

They moved back and forth, a bit clumsily as Ezra got the hang of it, trying to stay in coordination with her. Still looking at his feet, he said, "So do we just go back and forth for the whole dance?"

"Well -- one, two--" she was counting under her breath "--see, the gentleman is supposed to lead the lady -- you use your hands to tell her where you want her to go. If we were at a dance, we’d be going around and around in a big circle, all around the room."

"Oh, I see," Ezra was moving easier now, the glides becoming smoother. "Well, might as well give that a try, too."

"You can do it," she gasped. "Just don’t put us in the pond!"

They began to whirl around the yard, moving in long graceful strides through the trees, around the pond, past the water pump and back again, Sophie humming a waltz tune to keep them in step. As he grew more practiced and confident, Ezra found himself standing straighter and moving with an easy elegance he had not known was in him. The moves now seemed natural, effortless, as if they had always been inside of him and were merely waiting to be born. As they twirled through the orchard, he felt something new flooding his senses, a feeling of exhilaration at the discovery that he was capable of such things, things his other cousins had told him he wasn’t worthy of. He felt a growing awareness of his own potential, as if it seemed possible that he could really be more than just a burden on others, the odd person out, the poor relation with no father or name. He looked at the girl who had given him this gift, a surge of gratitude overwhelming him. She saw his look and smiled.

"Do you like it?" she asked, running out of breath; it was too hot to dance for long.

He nodded.

"You’re really good," she continued.

Ezra was panting now too. "How does this end?"

"Oh, well, when you hear the music finish up, you twirl me under your arm like this--" She let go of his waist, lifted her right hand high and spun around. "Then I curtsy, and you bow." She dropped a curtsy, a little awkward but still charming. He hesitated, then executed the most graceful bow he could, imitating how he’d seen it done; it seemed flawless, and he found he liked doing that, too.

"Then we clap, and it’s over."

They stood for a moment, trying to catch their breath; the sun had gone down, but the air was still stifling.

"That was fun," Ezra finally managed to say, wiping his brow on the back of his arm, then said with all sincerity, "I really appreciate you teaching me that."

"Oh, that’s all right, Ezra, it was fun," she remarked. "I couldn’t let you become a gentleman without knowing how to dance."

He gazed at her, touched by her concern, then said, "Know any more dances?"

Her face screwed up in disappointment. "No, sorry, they never let me stay up past the waltz."

They heard the side door bang open, and turned to see Grace standing in the doorway, wiping her hands on her apron.

"Sophie, Ezra, c’mon in, it’s getting dark and I’ve got some apple pie waiting for you!"

Sophie sighed in disappointment, although the pie sure sounded good. "Coming, Mama."

They gathered up their playthings and headed for the house, Ezra still gazing at the orchard, thinking about what had taken place there. Something inside him felt different, but he couldn’t quite tell what. It was a good kind of different, at least, not at all the way he’d felt before, but still puzzling.

"Maybe later we can get Mama to play us some waltzes on the piano," Sophie was saying as they came into the house. "We could practice in the parlor, if we promise to be careful."

As they sat at the table eating dessert, Grace couldn’t help chuckling over the children’s’ behavior.

"I saw you two dancing out there," she smiled. "That was right cute. You’re quite a waltzer, Ezra."

He smiled before shoveling in another forkful of pie. "Thank you, ma’am."

George came in, still in his sweat-stained work clothes, a cigar clamped in his teeth, which he removed to give his wife a quick kiss before sitting down. As he did so, Ezra noticed a letter in George’s hand, and recognized the handwriting. He froze.

"Well, son," his uncle said, lo